


Calling Only You

by faultyfriendofyours



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Drinking, Drunk John, M/M, McLennon, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:42:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22326529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faultyfriendofyours/pseuds/faultyfriendofyours
Summary: Paul McCartney is not surprised at the hour of the night John Lennon deemed appropriate to call him up and request a ride. He's also not surprised his mate is drunk off his ass.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 4
Kudos: 61





	Calling Only You

It was very late in the night when Paul woke to the sound of the phone ringing. With a groan, he stirred in the swaddle of comfortable blankets encasing him. Rolling over, he blinked up at a ceiling that he could barely make out through the moon’s faint glow. It hit him that he should probably answer before it woke his dad. After another ring, he shuffled to the edge of his bed, blindly groping in the darkness until the phone was in hand.

“‘Ello,” he said, stifling a yawn.

Muffled music and loud chattering filled the other end of the phone. “Macca-Love, you-you’re up!” John’s slurred voice stood above the background noise. “What a lovely night to be awake with me!”

Paul scooted up in bed, leaning against the headboard. “It’s late, John.” Clicking on the lamp at his bedside table, he saw it was half-past three. “Very late.”

“Yesss, Macca-Love. And! And I need you here with me.”

“Johnny, get yourself home on a bus. You’re drunk.” Paul let out a long yawn. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He went to hang up the phone but John began to frantically call out for him. He reluctantly put the phone back to his ear. “Yes?”

“That’s why I’ve called, darling-love.” He sighed dramatically and Paul could vividly imagine John putting the back of his hand to his forehead like a fainting girl in the pictures. “I’ve lost all my money in a cruel game of pool. Used the last of my change to ring you up.”

Paul’s eyes closed and open very slowly. He would have to dress and drive into town. The realization was slightly infuriating but he’d do just about anything for this man and they both knew that. “Tell me the pub you’re at and I’ll be there soon.”

Paul shuffled around his room, pulling on his trousers and tucking in the t-shirt he’d been sleeping in. The whole affair took only minutes. After pulling together what one could loosely call an outfit, he crept through his house and out the door, keys in hand.

John wasn’t usually one to be out at bars alone. He preferred a group, even when he was drinking for sorrow’s sake. Who would he impress with his drunken wit with no one around? It brought questions bubbling at the back of Paul’s groggy mind.

None stuck around long enough to get him worried about it. He just drove through the quiet night, wind blowing through the cabin of the car to slap him awake as sleep threatened to close his eyes. As he neared the bar, he kept an eye out on the sidewalk for John, in case he decided to walk.

Sleepy eyes drifted from either side of the street until something- someone- was thrown out into the street from between two parked cars. Paul’s eyes went wide as saucers as his foot slammed down on the breaks, a gasp catching harshly in his throat. The car screeched to a halt. He panted out breaths, his heart rate suddenly riding at a million miles an hour. He couldn’t see the figure for his car hood but he hadn’t felt any kind of impact.

A hand slammed the hood of his car, hoisting up a disheveled and bloody lipped John, looking like he’d gone completely spare. He didn’t even stop to look into the car that almost hit him. Instead, he flung himself at a man that stood between the parked cars, fists flying.

“Could have killed me!” John bellowed as his fists flew into the man’s face and torso.

Paul threw the car in park and yanked open the door, a flurry of curses leaving his lips as he marched over to the fighting pair. There was a bird trying to yank back the unknown man as he took a beating from John. She didn’t seem strong enough to get the job done, though.

“Hold yours and I’ll get mine,” he called to the young girl. She nodded, tugging harder at her man’s arm.

In one motion, he grabbed John’s upper arms on either side and yanked him back tightly into his arms. The bird wrapped her man into her arms, fussing over his bloodied face. John was struggling against Paul’s chest, trying to break free and get back at the now half-conscious bloke. The irritated bassist turned the lad around and pushed his back into the side of the car.

“It’s me, sodding idiot!” He pressed himself against John’s chest to calm him, holding his arms down.

His body relaxed immediately but his eyes were still searching for the fight. “Ello, darling. Interrupted something, y’know?” He smiled, the blood from his split lip staining his teeth red. It turned the drunken smile sinister and ghoulish.

“In the car. Go.” Paul stepped back, carefully eyeing John as he slipped into the car and closed the door. He kept his attention almost fully on the lad until he was in the car himself. He knew it was in John’s nature to finish the fight he started.

By the look of the other lad, he already had.

Paul started the car and began down the road in silence. He couldn’t help but look over all the injuries his mate had gotten in the span of fifteen or twenty minutes. John’s smile was disappearing as the seconds went by, his head drooping forward. The color had left his face and every time Paul glanced over it seemed the dark red of the blood at his lip and over his eye stood out on the paling skin more and more.

“Paulie…” He looked to his mate and knew almost immediately. He looked about to gag, his mouth hung open and hand to his stomach.

“Fuck, fuck.” Paul whipped the car to the side of the road and slammed it to a stop.

“Paul, I don’t-“ John clamped a hand over his mouth, gagging into it. Paul leaned over him and threw the door open just in time.

John dropped out of the car like jello, hacking up his stomach contents on the sidewalk. Paul craned his neck to make sure his mate wasn’t going to choke. His hands stayed at the wheel, his foot on the break.

“Puke in me dads car and you’ll never be able to see me again,” Paul said it jokingly as John pulled himself back into the car but they both knew it wasn’t a joke at all. Jim McCartney never cared much for John, only growing some sense of sympathy for him after his mother had passed so suddenly.

With all that being said, it might not have been Paul’s best idea to turn the car around in a haphazard U and head the opposite way from John’s house.

“See me drink on the cobble and fancy one for yourself,” he asked, voice muffled and shaken as he dragged his leather sleeve across his mouth. Blood was now smeared across his lips and left cheek like a birds streaked lipstick. Paul knew that he couldn’t drop his mate off in good conscience. He needed looking after, that much was obvious.

“We’re going to my place.” Paul glanced over for a read on the lad but he just curled his legs up in the seat, folding in on himself. His hands hung off his knees, trembling. “That alright?”

John grunted, burying his head deeper into his legs, and that was taken as a yes. Paul reached over, holding one of the shaking hands in his own and drawing soothing circles with his thumb. John didn’t unfurl from his ball the entire way to Paul’s house. He only gripped Paul’s hand with wavering intensity.

Paul slipped his hand away to park properly and John’s hand curled into a tight fist in its absence. As soon as the car parked, John frantically went for the door. He yanked it open, falling out on hands and knees to puke again.

Paul hurriedly pocketed the keys and went to his friend’s aid. He patted his back as the upheaval continued. “Get it all out, son.”

Once he seemed done with his spell, Paul hauled him to his feet and threw his mates arm over his own shoulder. As they moved towards the door, John’s feet struggled to walk properly. This put most of the responsibility on Paul to keep him upright and walking straight. It was more than a little difficult to quietly drag a man larger than himself up the steps and into his room without waking his father or brother. But it was managed.

He gently sat John on to the edge of his bed and ducked over to his desk to sit the small rubbish bin in his mate’s lap. Paul gripped John’s shoulders, looking him dead in the eyes. John’s eyes were glazed and shining as if looking into a void of great intrigue. Paul, figuring that was the best he could hope for at the moment, patted his shoulder and made for the door.

“Back in a mo. Aim for the bucket, love.” John’s glassed over eyes found Paul’s before his head fell into the bin, upheaving thrice over now. “Doing great,” he mumbled as he shut the door behind him and went to work on gathering the necessities.

After clearing the driveway of any sick, Paul places the keys back in their place and went to the bathroom. He gathered a warm basin of water and two rags. Slowly, careful not to spill the water, he maneuvered to his room and sat down his supplies.

John was curled up on his side in the bed, hugging his sick bin. He was the poster child of pitiful in that moment. Paul shook his head at the sight and left again to grab a glass of water.

He sat the glass on his nightstand and went to work on the pitiful boy. “Okay, come on. Sit up, love.” He coaxed the lad into being upright, leaning against the headboard. “You can’t be getting blood all over me bed, now.”

Paul dunked the rag into the basin, the water warming his fingertips, and dabbed at the cut running through John’s brow. John winced back, his face twisting up with the sudden pain. Paul mumbled an apology and moved down to John’s cheek, lightly scrubbing at the smear before moving to his lips. He patted over them gently, John leaning into the touch. The cut seemed to already be scabbed over well, just needed the blood cleared away.

John fell forward when Paul pulled the rag away, trying to set it down so he could continue with his caretaking. John seemed to not be having that. He wrapped his arms around the bass players back and pulled him close, nestling his head into the crook of Paul’s neck.

“I love you, darling.” It was the first thing he’d said since the car ride and Paul couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across his face. “You’re my world.”

“You’re not winning me over with that, now.” Though he already had. “Let me get you ready for bed.” Instead, John began to kiss at Paul’s neck, pulling his shirt up. Paul laughed and moved his hands away. “You’re too drink for any of that.”

“But you’re not.” He sang the words in between sloppy kisses, going for Paul’s zipper.

Paul rolled his eyes and moved John’s hands again, forcing him to take hold of the glass of water instead. “Drink, slag.” John did as he was told, gulping back the whole glass. “What had you out by yourself, anyroad?”

He took the glass away and began to strip the boy of his leather jacket. John seemed over his short-lived lust, letting Paul slip off his shirt without going for Paul’s.

“Boredom.” His eyes followed Paul as he moved around him, fussing at every bit of him. “Tired of sitting ‘round without a thing to do.” He seemed a bit soberer than moments before.

Paul slipped off his trousers and tossed the ensemble to the corner. “Could have rang me up,” Paul offered, moving off the bed to grab a set of pajamas for the lad. “Instead of getting into a bar fight and losing all your money.”

John’s waved a dismissive hand, pulling on the sleepwear without moving off the bed. “You were out all day.”

Paul’s brow furrowed as he slipped off his own trousers. “No, mate.” He got the other rag from the basin, wringing it out before placing it over John’s forehead. “Been home all day. Did you try to ring over?”

“Yeah. Rang three times. You’re dad said you’d been out with George for the day.”

Paul nudged his friend over and slipped into bed with him, realization taking hold. Paul scoffed indignantly. “Me dad. Of course. He’d said it was salesmen.”

“He’s back to that again? Me mum passing only gave me so much of a grace period with him?” John’s voice was rising. “Well, I know I could-“

Paul hurriedly hushed him. “You’ll wake the house like that,” he hissed.

John raised up, the rag falling from his forehead. “He’s got no right in-“ Paul clamped a hand over his mouth to silence him.

“I know, Johnny-love. I know.” He let his hand drop from John’s mouth and tossed the rag back into the basin. “Lay down now.”

John looked at him as if he was stupid but Paul gave a persistent stare and he complied. He laid on his side and so did Paul. As they settled, he pulled his mate closer, pressing the length of John’s back to his chest. They fit together like perfect puzzle pieces.

“Just ’cause he lies over the phone don’t mean we’ll stop being ‘round one another,” Paul said into John’s messy hair.

John grabbed at Paul’s arm, pulling it over his own waist. “You’re bleedin’ right I won’t stop comin’ ‘round.” His lingering buzz made him sounded like a defiant child.

“You’re my world, too, y’know,” Paul said, smiling into his hair.

John nestled back into Paul, holding his hand tight. “I’d better be.”


End file.
